Coincidence
by blackrose113
Summary: James Bond didn't believe in coincidence. So when the woman who ran into him in the coffee shop just happened to share the same last name as the newest villain he had been assigned to apprehend, he almost rolled his eyes.


**Coincidence**

A/N: Will probably be a one or two-shot, but it may turn into something more if I have inspiration. The basic premise was just a funny thought I had as I was watching a 007 movie. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC. Also, part of the plot is inspired by an episode of Archer.

* * *

James Bond strolled into the coffee shop, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling them up as he did so. He removed his sunglasses and peered up at the long list of teas and coffees written in colorful chalk on the boards above the cashier's head. As he waffled between Earl Grey or a double shot of espresso, the woman in front of him undid her scarf from around her neck. The woman must have owned several dogs, as a spray of dog hairs erupted outwards—a single hair finding its way up 007's nose. He sneezed, closing his eyes on reflex, just as a flustered, amber haired woman tripped and ran into him, spilling her coffee down the front of his crisp, white shirt.

She gasped and he winced as the hot liquid burned his skin. While normally his natural grace and agility would have allowed him to side step her while concurrently preventing her fall, that damned dog hair had made him drop his guard for the two seconds necessary for this to happen. The woman's eyes were wide behind her glasses and she hurriedly set her books and binders on a nearby table.

"Christ, I'm so sorry!"

She dabbed at his shirt with paper towels, clumsily apologizing all the while, explaining that she would pay for dry cleaning, or a new shirt. Bond threw her a charming smile, waving away her apologies.

He ruined more shirts in a month than he could count on both hands, and MI6 paid for it all. And since he was _technically_ on a job at the moment, he could just write it off as a work expense.

"It's really no problem, miss. Just an honest accident."

_Wait._

Bond froze for a second, the gears in his head working quickly. He _had_ just started a new assignment. And there was _always_ a woman who "coincidentally" ran into him, and turn out later to be the villain, or the villain's daughter, or somehow connected to the case. James Bond didn't believe in coincidences. But the bumbling woman in front of him seemed far from the epitome of grace and class that most of the previous femme fatales he encountered often represented. She had flyaway hair and a thick pair of glasses perched precariously on her nose. But a glance at the textbooks and papers she was reading revealed she was studying cancer, _exactly_ the issue at the center of the new crime ring he was investigating. These criminals were were lifting tens of thousands of rounds of chemotherapy treatment and replacing it with cheap alternatives, all the while selling the real drugs for a nice profit.

_Coincidence? I think not…_

But these thoughts flitted through his head in less than a second, and a charming smile re-emerged on his lips. He'd better play it safe and at least get her name.

"Well it seems as if you're out a cup of coffee, could I buy you another one?"

The woman gaped at him for a second, then quickly shook her head, giving a nervous laugh. "No, no, I couldn't possibly accept. Please, let me buy _you_ a drink to make up for this. And really I don't mind taking your shirt for dry cleaning or anything. I feel just _awful_ for ruining it. I was just in such a rush. I'm late for my friend's thesis defense, you see, and I promised I'd bring her some coffee to calm her nerves before it started and I wasn't watching where I was going and—"

Bond cut her off with a wave of his hand and an understanding nod. "It's really not a problem. I'm just glad it was such a lovely woman as you to run into me."

Damn he was smooth.

The woman furrowed her brow confusedly, then let out a snort of laughter. "Is that a joke? I really hope you're teasing me or your sense of women's style is _extremely_ unique. I fell asleep studying in these clothes last night, and it was the most I could do to wash my face and brush my teeth before running out the door. See?" she pointed at white spots on her dark sweater. "I have toothpaste on my clothes. _Toothpaste_."

She shook her head and brushed her bangs out of her face, catching sight of the clock on the coffee shop's far wall as she did so.

"_Shit_ shit shit I'm late."

She grabbed Bond's hand, fishing a pen out of her purse, and scribbled her name and number on his palm. "Look, I'm really sorry about the shirt, but I need to run. Call me, and we can work out dry cleaning or coffee or lunch or something. Again, I'm really _really_ sorry."

She grabbed her half empty (or half full, depending on how optimistic you were) cup of coffe, her pile of books and papers, and then she was gone in a flurry of dog hair (the woman in front honestly was _covered_ in the stuff) and cold air that had rushed into the shop at her exit. Bond frowned, and took a look at the name on his hand. This certainly was the oddest female villain he'd met yet. She hadn't even waited to hear his name. Perhaps it really was just a coincidence?

_Anne Montgomery_.

The head of the crime ring he was looking into was named Felix Montgomery. _Montgomery_. He fully expected this messy woman to show up in his life again within the next few months as he worked to apprehend these criminals. He was far from surprised when, at a cancer charity event in which Montgomery and many of his partners in crime were present, Montgomery introduced him to his daughter, Anne. He had his retort all ready: _Nice to _officially_ meet you, Anne_. A retort which he would accompany with a quirk of the lips that said he was wondering how long it would be until she revealed the connection between Felix and herself. But instead of that line and the perfectly timed facial expression to go with it, he instead met Anne with a furrowed brow, because _this_ Anne was tall, curvaceous, and very, very blonde. She was far cry from the petite, less-than-curvy, amber-haired woman in a lumpy sweater that had run into him in the coffee shop all those months ago.

_Hm_, Bond mused, five minutes later, after his cover had been blown and he had jumped out of a window. He almost laughed as he dodged bullets whilst sprinting down an empty, dark alleyway._ It seems coincidences _do_ exist._


End file.
